


They Meet

by nowordswriter (eloquentelegance)



Series: Taming Pitch [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/nowordswriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch was the first immortal Jack ever met. It was an accident</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

Pitch was the first immortal Jack ever met. It had been just a few weeks since Jack first woke. He was painfully new to the workings of his kind. But he was aware of the other spirits. He had seen the streams of gilded sand, caught the flutter of faerie feathers. He knew there were others like him, ageless and strangely tied to mortals. But he never found them and they never looked for him.

Pitch had been an accident. Pitch had been a try too desperate, an attempt too many. Jack was so new, so ignorant to the rules. And there were rules, unspoken and unwritten but still unquestioningly there. It had been set for the safety of the spirits. And Jack knew nothing of it. He broke the first rule, the cardinal rule. He interacted directly and with a concious, fully aware mortal. He wasn't supposed to do that.

Jack left hand prints on windows. He wrote his name on the frost. He snuck into houses. He sat at dinner tables. He terrified people. With his very presence, he brought a chill, a gust of air that sent shivers crawling down their spines. His marks, his hand prints, his name came to be a calling from the grave. They thought him a vengeful spirit and they feared him.

Pitch had been drawn to that fear, a moth to the trembling flame. He had heard the hysterical cries of mothers, wives when their perfectly cooked meals froze on their plates. He had heard the frustrated curses of fathers, husbands as they fought a presence they could not fathom. He had heard the children, their hushed whispers in the shadow of the moon, praying to be left alone. Pitch had revelled in it. But it was not his work. He needed to give credit where credit was due.

Pitch finds Jack nestled amongst the tree tops. The boy is shooting sparrows out of the air, freezing them with his curious staff. The poor things are dead before they hit the ground. At a later hour, their corpses would be found by some hapless child, and oh, how the sweet darling will scream. Pitch laughs and slowly claps his hands.

"Oh, very good! Very good, indeed!" Pitch calls out.

The boy stiffens, whirling around. He spies Pitch beneath him and curiously cocked his head. 

"I liked what you did there." Pitch continues. "Superb work, I must say."

The boy blinks before pointing to himself. "Wait. Are-Are you talking to me?"

Pitch raises a questioning brow. "Who else would I be speaking to?"

"You... You can see me? You - You can hear me?!"

Comprehension dawns on Pitch. "My dear child, have you been all alone this entire time?"

"I'm not a child." The boy protests, curling in on himself.

But it had been answer enough. Pitch smirks. "You have never met a kindred spirit, have you?"

"You're not mortal?"

"Do I look mortal?"

The boy huffs out a laugh. "Never seen a'body with your coloring before."

"Hmmm, yes." Pitch hums, distinctly unamused.

"Oh lighten up, tall, dark, and spooky."

"My name is Pitch Black. I am more widely known as the Boogieman."

The boy stills then. There is recognition in there, and a touch of fear. Pitch likes this boy already.

"The Boogieman?"

"Yes. Now who, pray tell, are you?"

"I'm Jack. Jack Frost."

Pitch smirks just a little wider. "It is a pleasure to meet you then, Jack Frost."


	2. The Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopes are dashed.

"We're the same, you and I." Pitch begins.

"We are?" Jack echoes.

"Oh, yes. Mortals can't see me either. At least, not as much as they used to."

"You're invisible too?"

"And intangible."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you see, we spirits require belief in order to be seen, to be heard, to be..." Pitch floats up to Jack's perch. He reaches out and the boy flinches. Isn't that just a delight? He brushes a knuckle against that white-washed skin. "...touched."

Jack presses himself against the tree, watching Pitch with wide, wary eyes. He swallows. "Belief?"

Pitch smirks. "Yes. They must know your name, your power. They must acknowledge you exist. If they don't..."

He lets the sentence hang, allowing the young sprite to finish it himself. And finish it, he does. Pitch can see the boy relive every single moment he had been ignored, unheard, and passed through. His breath comes in shorter gasps, agitation bleeding into his delicious fear.

"Does that mean - Does that mean I just have to make them believe in me? And then, they'll see me?"

"And you will be lonely no longer."

Jack stiffens. "Wha - How did you know?"

"Apart from the obvious? You said it yourself, Jack. You've never met a fellow spirit. Who else would you talk to? The wind?'

Jack shifts uneasily. "...yes."

Pitch sighs rather dramatically. "You are a poorer soul than I first thought. But yes, apart from the obvious, I can see your greatest fears. It's the one thing I always know. I am the Boogieman, after all."

If it was possible to sound self-deprecating and proud at the same time, Pitch managed it. At Jack's confused silence, he presses on. 

"I saw what you did in the village. You terrified those townsfolk. They kept muttering about vengeful spirits and feared their own shadows. It was magnificent."

Jack's eyes widen. He bows his head, clutching his staff in a white-knuckled grip. "I did that?"

"And how!"

"I just wanted to be seen... to be heard."

"I dare say, you're on the right track. "

Jack snaps his head up. "I never meant to scare them!"

Pitch blinks, quirking a curious brow. "Is that so?"

Jack purses his lips. "That's... That's not what I wanted."

"Why not? If they fear you, they'll believe in you."

"Look." Jack cuts in, shaking his head. "I'm not like you. I don't thrive on fear or terror. That's not for me."

Pitch is struck silent, shock taints his expression before he recovers. A scowl scars his lips as he floats back down. 

"Pity. And here I was, thinking I finally found an ally. But then, hopeful wishing was never my area of expertise."

Jack starts, crouching on the balls of his feet. "Wait! Are you leaving?"

Pitch sends him a curious look. "There's nothing for me here. Is there?"

"But you can't just leave! We just met! We just started talking! You can't just leave me all by myself!"

Fear is rolling off the boy in waves. Pitch is almost tempted to stay and revel in it. But no. That would ruin it.

"Watch me." He sneers, relishing that last rush of terror. He draws the shadows around him and prepares to sink into the familiar abyss. But a cold, bony weight slams into him at the very last second.

There's a busy moment as Pitch tries to untangle himself from the winter sprite. The shadows, heedless of his struggles, swallow them both and together, they arrive at Pitch's home. They land in a messy heap on the floor, with Jack somehow straddling the older spirit.

The boy has the gall to grin at Pitch. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Don't you?"

Pitch clocks him in the face.


End file.
